What? No. “I can walk up the steps.”

“Then you deal with being upside down,” he says and starts climbing the stairs again, throwing me back over his shoulder.

Jackson climbs about ten more steps and I slap his ass, giggling. “Jackson! Put me down!”

“Nah, this is more fun,” he says, gripping my legs tighter.

I can’t take another second of being hung upside down, staring and feeling suspended over the hundreds of feet below. “Fine! I give up. You win.”

For once, he doesn’t make a noise but I can feel his chest bounce as if he’s laughing. Cocky bastard. Instead of putting me down so I can climb on his back, he lowers me and scoops me in his arms. My arms naturally wrap around his neck as if it’s the most normal thing to be carried like this. Never once can I remember having this happen in any past relationship. His strong arms hold me close against his chest and I feel his heart racing through his shirt. I don’t say a word, afraid to break the moment between us. Safe and secure is the only way I can define this space in time.

Once we reach the top of the lighthouse, he sets me down. My arms fall to my sides as he leans forward and places a kiss on the top of my head. I swallow and try to regulate my breathing and slow my pulse.

He weaves his fingers with mine again and guides me to the windows.

“I used to come up here after my run in the mornings,” he says quietly as we look out at the horizon.

“So you worked out and then climbed the stairs? By choice?” I ask with a raised brow.

His throaty laugh echoes through the building and he pulls me close. “Not all of us find exercise dumb. There are lots of activities that can be”—he coughs and smiles—“enjoyable.”

Jackson’s innuendo makes my cheeks flush. Him and his mouth!

“Well, only if you do it right,” I say boldly.

He leans in conspiratorially. “I always do it right,” he says in my ear. Then he walks past me.

“I’m sure you do,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

Of course he heard me.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” I lie and stare out the window.

We walk around the lighthouse, viewing the ocean from all angles. Times like this you realize how small you really are. Up here, looking out, I see endless seas and skies. Jackson and I are the only ones standing here, and as I take it all in I wonder who would light the way home for me?

I’m lost in thought when Jackson comes behind me, pressing against my back. His heat comforts me and I lean back a little. “Look over there,” he says against my ear, pointing toward a huge bridge.

I look over but it’s not the bridge that causes me to gasp. It’s the huge aircraft carrier that’s floating over where the bridge becomes a tunnel.

“Ships come in and out through there. You see the white?” Jackson asks.

I squint to get a better view. It looks like there’s a white lining around the deck of the ship. I nod, still trying to get a closer look.

“That’s called manning the rails. When a ship goes in or out of port for a deployment, they stand around the side of the ship and watch their home either go out of view or come into view,” Jackson explains.

I wonder how many times he’s done that. How many families have watched their loved ones leave, knowing they were about to spend countless nights alone? How many have stood waiting, anticipating their love’s return, serving as lighthouses to guide them home?

In the softest whisper I say, “See. Magic.”

Jackson smiles and his eyes lock on mine. “Yeah, there’s magic here for sure.”

“I don’t know what the hell to do!” I say into the receiver. Ashton is not helping and I need my best friend to help me right now.

I called her shortly after we got back from the lighthouse. Jackson and I spent about a half hour up there, laughing and talking about different stuff—what it was like for him going through boot camp, a little about my college experience and Ashton and Gretchen. I was nervous and quiet in the car after we left, unsure how to proceed with him and how to process what I was thinking. Jackson, however, was relaxed and completely at ease with our silent drive back. As we were arriving back at our hotel, another call came in from his security team. All I could hear was something about an issue with the contract in Afghanistan. Jackson apologized for being on the phone again and when we arrived at our rooms, he just gave me a wave and a wink, unlocked his door, and went in.

“See why I told you to bring pretty panties?”

“You know! You’re not freaking helpful.” I sigh and pace around the room. After crawling and running around all over today, I desperately needed a shower when we got back. But while I was enjoying the warmth and serenity, I remembered I was going to dinner with Jackson tonight. My nerves grew to the point that I had to do some deep breathing exercises to avoid an anxiety attack.

“Look, you like him, right?”

“Yes … I think. I don’t really know him. He could be a complete ass**le.”

“Or he could be perfect for you,” she quickly replies.

“Again with the helping.” I huff and continue to pace. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Where is my best friend?”

She makes an obnoxious sound—a mix between a grunt and a snort. “I really hope you’re kidding me, twunt. I am helping. You just refuse to listen to what I’m saying.”

“Twunt?” I ask. “Seriously, did you make that word up?”

“Yes. Be jealous of my superior intelligence.”

I laugh. “Wow, you can make up stupid curse words.”

“Whatever.” I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand. He wants dinner. You’re on a business trip. Go to dinner with your sex-on-a-stick boss. And if you didn’t pack the right stuff, just go commando.”

“The problem isn’t the underwear. It hasn’t been that long since things ended with Neil—”

She quickly cuts me off with a stern voice. “That shit was over long before you found out. Let’s be real.” Her voice softens a little but still sounds annoyed. “I’m gonna be brutal here. Neil is not the issue. You are. You get in your head and you think you’re not good enough. Why?”

“Because …” I trail off. I don’t know why. That’s the problem. I don’t know why I can’t accept that a man like Jackson would ever want to have dinner with me, let alone anything more. I’ve never felt special. I was always second best. But the worst thing isn’t that people told me those things—the worst thing is that I believe them. The only place I’m worth a damn is at work. Sometimes when you’re told something long enough you eventually believe it.

“Well, that’s a great answer!” she screams, loud enough that I have to move the phone from my ear. “Here’s the deal. Your dad did a real number on you, and I’m sorry. Your mom has always made you feel like it was your fault. And don’t even get me started on Neil.” She clears her throat and her tone softens dramatically. “Please listen to me this once.” She takes a deep breath. “You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, but Jesus Christ stop for one goddamn minute. Stop being so deep in your head that you’re blind to the fact that life is short and if you keep letting others influence your decisions, you’re going to be that crazy bitch with a hundred cats. We all know a woman should only have one pu**y.”